
aassIEEMa 



Book. 



■o [ 



THE MAGPIE; 

BRyTHE MAID OF PALAISEAU. 

A MELO-DRAME. 



WITH PREFATORY REMARKS. 

rHE ONLY EDITION EXISTING WHICH IS FAITHFULLY 

MARKED WITH THE STAGE BUSINESS, 

AND STAGE DIRECTIONS, 

AS IT IS PERFORMED AT THE 
By W. OXBERRY, Comedian, 



* boston; 

P^UfiLTSIIED BY WELLS AND LILLY — COURT-STREET * 
A. T. OOODRICH & CO. — NKW-rORK. 

1822. 









'II 




iteitta^rltf5i. 



MAGPIE. 



X HIS piece was once a great favourite with the town, but 
Fashion, like Time, hath — 

A wallet at his back 
Wherein he puts alms for Oblivion, 
A great-sized monster of ingratitude. 

And truly, amongst many better things, Fashion hath pop- 
ped the Maid and Magpie into his wallet for the tooth of 
the great-sized monster, who seems to be making a com- 
fortable meal upon it. The piece is seldom played, and 
never with much attraction. Besides, too, it has the cry- 
ing sin of being a melo-drama, a sin which of all others 
inost offends the delicate nose of criticism. The ciritics have 
agreed, ^^magno consensu,-^ ♦hat the trash of pantomime, 
the trash of farce, the trash Ci Durletta, nay any trash, and 
all trash, may be tolerated, but not melo-drama : it is the 
very hobgoblin of criticism — it is the natural enemy of the 
legitimate drama ! Legitimate drama — What does this 
phrase mean, and where is it to be found ? In the songs 
and dances of the Greek tragedy, in the cold unnatural 
dialogues of the French school, or in the witchery and 
music of Macbeth? It is to be hoped that some wise critic 
of some wise magazine will settle this knotty point, till 



when, we must be conte . to ttiink ihai. this raelo-drana is 
a delightful composition, and much more true to nature than 
the hobgoblin tragedies which it was the fashion to admire 
about two years since, or the prosaic insipidities, which 
have since acquired the palm of popular approbation. Let 
it be clearly understood that this remark is limited to the 
productions of the last ten years. 

The Maid and Magpie is founded on an event of real life, 
and may therefore set at defiance the sharpest arrow in the 
quiver of criticism; — its fable can not be called unnatural^ 
—and to this advantage, which is perhaps fortuitous, may 
be added the excellent blending of the under-plot, which is 
so mixed up with the main story, as to seem an essential 
part of it. This is a merit which is not to be found in many 
superior writings to the Maid and Magpie, but it seems ab- 
solutely necessary to dramatic perfection. The two stories 
of a play, if not visibly and strongly united, destroy each 
other's interest by distracting the attention. The mind, no 
sooner becomes fixed on one plot, than it is called off to 
another, and is to be satisfied in the end by the union of 
these divided streams. 

The comedy of this piece, if comedy it may be called, is 
not very striking ; Blaisot is a very every-day sort of gen- 
tleman, and even the Farmer, is more interesting than 
humourous. But to make amends for this deficiency there 
is a great portion of nature and character in both of them, 
Annette, too, deserves the same praise ; she is from begin- 
ning to end the Maid of Palaiseau, and more particularly 
in Miss Kelly's acting. It may in truth be said to want 
nothing of perfection. 

Of the three alterations from the French original, that by 
Mr. Arnold is decidedly the best. By the blending of Blai- 
sot and Richard into one part, the interest of the drama jS 



Orcaglit iiiore to a focub, wh.ie nothing that we can see rs 
lost in character. On the contrary, Blaisot seems a fitter 
lover for Annette than Richard, who moreover, always ap- 
pears like an intruder, or at least by his presence makes 
Blaisot such. Indeed by this scattering of the strength, both 
were wanted, yet both seemed in the way, and thus it al- 
ways will be while the interest is divided amongst too many 
characters. The oak that is strong in its wholeness, is 
weak as childhood when split into many rods. 



srcme oi 10itpvtmntntioti. 



The time this piece takes in representation is nearlji 
Wo hours. 



Stage Directions, 



By R.H. is meant Right Hand. 

L.H. Left Hand. 

s.E. Second Entrance. 

u.E. Upper Entrance. 

M.D. Middle Door. 

»-r. Door in Flat. 

R.B»». Right Hand Door. 

i"H.i>. Left Hand Door 



itoHtumt, 



EVRARD. 
White regimental suit, drab-coloured loquelaure. 

ST. CLAIR. 
Ibid. 

FARMER GERVAS. 

Grey coat, flowered waistcoat, and coi-d iM-eeches. 

BAILLIE. 
Old fashioned black cloth suit, black stuff gown, and small cocked 
bat. 

BLAISOT. 

Grey country coat, flowered waistcoat, and buff breeches. 

ISAAC. 
Black gaberdene. Sec hat. 

RICHARD. 

White regimental jacket, breeches and gaitei's, 

DANCERS. 
White military jackets, pantaloons and caps. 
DAME GERVAS. 
Scarlet stuff gown striped with black, muslin apron trin. 1 with 
black, and high cap. 

ANNETTE. 

Butf cloth petticoat trimmed with black, brown sarsnet body trimmed 
with grten and yellow, green sarsnet apron trimmed with the same, and 
French cap. 

PEASANTS 

White petticoats, red and white striped body's boimd with black, raitsi 
I'm bandeau's for the head. 



J^^rsons lirprcisrntcti. 



Evrard . » . 
Fanner Gervas 
Baillie . 
Blaisot . 
Isaac. . 
Richard . 
Gaoler . 
St- Clair 

Annette . 
Dame Gervas 



Soldiers, 



Original cast, at 


Drury Lane, 


Drury Lane. 


1820. 


Mr, R. Philips. 


Mr. Thompson. 


Mr. Dowton. 


Mr. Gattie. 


Mr. Munden. 


Mr. Hughes. 


Mr. Knight. 


Mr. Knight. 


Ml-. Oxben-y. 


Mr. Oxberry. 


Mr. Wallack. 


Mr. Barnard. 


Mr. Penley. 


Mr. Smith. 


Mr. Barnard. 


Mr. Elliott. 


Miss Kelly. 


Miss Kelly. 


Mrs. Sparks. 


Mrs. Harlowe. 



Officers of Police^ Peasantry., &c. 



THE MAGPIE. 



ACT I. 

3CENE I. — Represents a large court in the Farm 
of Palaiseau. M the left^ the entry {or front 
door) of the house ; on the right., trees., with 
very thick foliage^ particularly one^ on a branch 
of which hangs a large basket-cage^ with a 
Magpie in it. At the bottom of the stage, in 
front, a hedge ; in the centre of which is a rus- 
tic gate for entrance ; and, in the back-ground, 
a hill, and the country in perspective. 

Blaisot, l.h.s.e. yVom Cottage door. 

Mag. Blaisot ! Blaisot ! 

Blais. (^In the house.) Coming, coming. (^Enters 
in a hurry, wiping his mouth.) One has never a 

moment's time to Here 1 am ; what do you 

want? — Nobody here ! (^Sees Annette coming down 
the hill, R.H. to the gate.) Ah ! there's Miss An- 
nette ; to be sure, it was she call'd me. — What 
a nice girl that is — and to be a servant too ! it's 
a thousand pities. 
2 



10 THE MAGPIE. 



Enter Annette, r.h.u.e. 

Ann. {Very gaily.) Ah ! Blaisot, is it you ? 
Blais. I say, Miss Annette, here I am; you 
call'd me, didn't you? 
Ann. Not I. 

Mag. Blaisot ! Blaisot ! 

Blais. What ! it's you., is it, with your cursed 
ugly mug ? " Blaisot ! Blaisot !" 

{Mocking the bird.) 

Jinn. {Laughing.) Why, Blaisot, Maggy is al- 
ways laughing at you. But you ought to be used 
to it by this time. 

Blais. Used to it indeed ! I wonder how you'd 
like to be served so. — I had just got the bottle 
of dame Gervas's cordial up to my mouth, when 
that spiteful tell-tale halloos out, " Blaisot ! 
Blaisot;" before I could take a drop of it. 

Ann. Serv'd you right. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 

Mag. Ha ! ha I ha ! 

Blais. You laughing at me too ? — 1 wish I could 
wring your neck off! {Threatening the bird.) It's 
a pity some good cat doesn't strangle her — I 
can t see the use of such vermin. 

Ann. One good use at least — to prevent peo- 
ple from drinkuig what doesn't belong to them. 
{Crosses to l.h.) So take care ot Maggy in future, 
Mr. Blaisot. [Music. — Exit into the Cottage., l.h.s.e. 

Blais. " Take care of her !" — that I will. 1 
wonder why dame Gervas takes such pleasure 
in such a chattering devil ! Birds of a feather, 
they say. Ecod ! I don't know which chatters 



THE MAGPIE. 11 

most all day long^.- I'll be up with you one of 
thes^ days, (To the Magpie) you jackdaw ! 

Dame. {^Speaking within the hoiise^ l.h.) Do 
mind what you're about — sweep out the parlour, 
Annette, and try and get things ready to lay the 
cloth. 

Enters from the Cottage. 

Nothing done here at fire o'clock, and our dear 
son Kichard coming at six! — Where's that lazy 
Blaisot? 

Blais. ( Who had been putting his fingers into the 
cage.) Oh ! oh ! 

Dame. Well, tvhat's the matter now ? 

Blais. A murrain take the nasty beast ! Look 
here — look at my finger! 

Dame. I'm glad of it. What business have 
you with the bird ? 

Blais. {To the Cage.) Wait a bit — wait a bit; 
I'll do for yon one of these moramgs. 

Dame Do you mean to st-in' there all day, 
doing nothing? Go and get the large table, and 
place it under the trees — do you mind — it is 
there we sha!! sup. 

Blais. And is Master Richard coming ? What 
a fine fellow my cousin must be by this time ! — 
and he has got bis discharge— that's the best 
on't. 

Dame. Yes, yes, Blaisot ; thank Heaven, after 
six yepfs and eight months, my dear son is com- 
ing back, never to leave us again. But will yon 
stir, sir, 1 say ? 



12 THE MAGPIE. 

Blais. And such a fine thing to hear him talk 
of his battles, and bullets, and sabres, and 

Dame. Will you go and mind your business, 1 
say, and not stand there prating all day long? 

(^Pushes him over to l.h.) 

Enter Gervas, l.h.u.e. rolling a barrel. 

Gerv. Here ! Blaisot, my boy, lend a hand. 

Blais. That I will. 

Dame. What are you about, Mr. Gervas ? 

Gerv. That side — take care — now we have it : 
roll him up snug — that's it. There won't be 
too much, wife, never fear. Consider, all the 
village is coming, young and old, for our boy's 
arrival. No fete without wine — that's Farmer 
Gervas's maxim. 

Blais. Yes — that's our maxim ; and the fiddlers, 
you know, must whet their whistles — and we 
shall have such fun. 

Dame. Don't prate so; but go and lay the 
table, as I told you. 

Blais. I'm going. — {Goes to arrange the table, 
after carrying it in.) 

Gerv. Well, wife, is all ready ? nothing forgot ? 

Dame. '■' Nothing forgot," indeed ! — I like 
that. Things would go on prettily in the house, 
if I was not to look about me, and do every thing 
myself 

Gerv. I know it, wife : for vigilance, activity, 
and cleverness, there's not such another within 
twenty miles round. 

Dame. I defy you to shew me a woman in the 



THE MAGPIE. 13 

whole village of such patience and gentleness. — 
{Blaisot laughs.) And what are you doing, Mr. 
Drone ? (^Giving him a box on the ear.) You are 
to laugh, are you, instead of minding your busi- 
ness ? — a lazy knave ! — and the table not half 
laid: every thing must be done by me ; I see 
not a creature in the house to assist me. 

Blais. Lord ! lord ! how can you say so ! I have 
not time to say my prayers, not one moment in 
twenty-four hours — and Miss Annette, she does 
nothing either perhaps — poor little soul I 

Dame. Hold your tongue I say — she's not a 
bit better than you are. 

Gerv. Fie, fie. Dame — you don't do justice to 
that excellent girl^ — is she not always at her duty, 
and with mildness ? 

Dame. I hate mildness — who cares for a girl 
that's always watching every look of your's to 
do a thing before she's bid : I'd rather have that 
oaf, though he sets me mad twenty times a day 
with bis stupidity — there's some use in a block- 
head of that kind — he puts me in a passion — I 
give him a box on the ear — it makes my blood 
circulate, and keeps me in health. 

Blais. Ecod, but I don't like to be your doctor 
after that there fashion. 

Dame. Yes, indeed ! Annette this, and Annette 
that, and so handsome forsooth ! and every body 
in love with her — and such sweet stuff— even 
that old fool the Baillie, Heaven forgive me, 
but I think he's in love with her too. 

Gerv. Do you know I have observed it, wife, 
was there ever such a sillv dotard? 
2 * 



14 THE MAGPIE. 

Dame. And let me tell you, Mr. Gervas, all 
this nonsense spoils the girl — it is a good work- 
ing person I want, and not one of your handsome 
folks, for a servant. 

Gerv. Gently, gently wife ; recollect that An- 
rjette is not in our house as a common servant — 
you know she was rather committed to our pro- 
tection, by my sister at Paris — she is the daugh- 
ter of as good a farmer as myself; and though 
poor Mr. Granville, her father, lost all his pro- 
perty, and was obliged to turn soldier at last, 
that isn't the fault of the poor girl, who, you 
must allow, deserves every thing we can do for 
her. 

Dame. Mighty well — all that's true enough, 
but a young and handsome girl in a fiirm-house 
— I don't like such people about me — Mr. Gervas. 

Gerv. There's something in that to be sure — 
never mind \a ife — we can't all be handsotne you 
know — let me see, — {Looking at his watch.) — 
half-past live : and Richard writes that we may 
expect him at six. 

Dame. True ; well then — I'll tell you what 
we'll do — I'll just go into the house, and give a 
look to see how things are going on, and we'll 
walk to the top of the hill to meet the dear boy, 

Gerv. Well said, dame — how hapj)y shall I be 
embrace our son after such an absence ; — 
hearkye, dame, we must think of getting him a 
wife. 

Dame. Aye, aye ; we shall see in proper time. 

Gerv. I have something in my head. 

Dame. In your head indeed ? that's my affair; 



THE MAGPIE. U 

Richard's marriage is my business, Mr. Gervas, 
— (Calls Annette.) — and he shall marry — 
Mog. Annette ! Annette ! 
,, • Gerv. Dame — did you hear Mag, there? that 
i^ird's a witch — He knew my thoughts. 

Dame, i^nd let me tell you Mr. Gervas, it'j 
not my thoughts, I assure you, and don't let me 
liear — 

Ew/e?' Annette, from the Cottage. 

Jinn. Did you call me, ma'am ? 

Dame. Yes, child ; you must assist in laying 
the table, and getting things ready and nice — ] 
sliall go and prej)are the linen and plate, but 
take care and don't let the same thing happen 
this time that did a fortnight ago; on my hus- 
band's birth-day — 1 don't blame any body — anoth- 
er loss of that kind would be no joke to me — a 
silver fork's a silver fork. 

Jnn. Oh ! ma'am, you may depend upon it — 
that unlucky icrk has made me miserable ever 
since. 

Gerv. Bah—and after all it's a mighty loss, 
indeed ! 1 tell you, wiie, I'll hear no more about 
it — you dinn'd it into our ears for a week to- 
gether; and that's more than it was worth. 

Dame. Weil, and do 1 say any more about HI 
I don't think of it for my pari-^come with mc, 
Blaisot, I want you ; don't be impatient, my goooi 
man — I shall be with you in two minutes. 

[Exit, zmth Blaisot .^ into Cottage. 

Gerv. What's the matter, Annette ? you looli 
wnhappy. 



U THE MAGPIE. 

Ann. Madam Ger?as will still talk to roe of 
that fork. 

Gerv. Poh ! don't mind — let her talk ; you 
know she loves it — but she means nothing*. 

Ann Oh! j^es— she means, 1 know, that if I 
had been more attentive, the fork would not 
have been lost, and that makes me so unhappy. 

Gerv. VVhat does it signify, people can"'t an- 
swer for such accidents — let us talk of other 
matters— here's Richard a coming — 1 dare say 
youVe very sorry now, eh ? 

Ann. Oh no, 1 am delighted, — who would not 
be glad to see Richard? — so good a son, so mild 
— so kind — why he's the very picture of you, 
Mr. Gervas. 

Gerv. Indeed ! a little fllatter'd or so — I see 
you like Aim, merely out of friendship for wc, 
you little rogue ; suppose now 1 was to make 
you a present of this likeness of mine. 

Ann. To me, sir! 

Gerv. Come, come, m}^ dear child, Richard 
has no secret from me — you are a good girl — 
your education, your sentiments are such as 1 
could wish — your fjUher is a poor man — what 
then ? he is an honest one, that's enough for me 
— and his alliance would do honour to the best 
— but ril say no more. 

Ann. Good Heaven! what have 1 heard! can 
the poor Annette hope ! but Dame Gervas — may 
perhaps — 

Gerv. We must let her scold a little to be 
sure — she'd fall sick if she could'nt scold ; but 
at bottom she's a good soul, believe n^e ; — there- 
fore, hope the best, we'll manage matters. 



THE MAGPIE. 17 

J/m. Oh ! sir, your goodness— 
Enter Dame Gervas and Blajsot, /rom the Cottage. 

Dame. Come, Mr. Gervas — I'm ready. — {Car- 
rying a small basket of Forks and Spoons.)- Here, 
Annette— I need not tell you to take care of the 
plate. I should not use it, I assure you, if it 
wasn't for Richard's fete — have an eye to il 
child. 

Ann. Certainly, ma'am. 

Gerv. Annette — we're going to meet Richard 

Blais. To meet Richard! ecod 111 be iarsi 
. though. 

{Throwing down what he has in his hands.^ hi 
scampers through the gate up the hill befou 
them.) 

Gerv. Adieu, Annette, we shall return direct- 
ly, remember what I told you ; and rely upoi 
me. ^ 

Dame. Do have done with your compliments^ 
and come along. 
[Exeunt Gerv. and Dame., through the Gate., r.h.u.e. 

Ann. {Arranging the Table., and laying tht 
Knives and Forks.) The worthy Mr. Gervas ! he 
bids me hope, and I shall see my dear Richard 
once more ; every thing conspires to make me 
so happy 1 and my dear father too, whom I shall 
soon embrace ! he writes me word that his regi- 
ment is coming to Pans, and that he will ask 
permission to come here, for a few days — I am 
so delighted ! and he says he has received the 
little money I have been able to spare. 



18 THE MAGPIE. 

Isaac at a little distance behind the hedge^ l.h.u.e. 

tstt. Knives, scissars, lace, watches — any potty 
rants to py, &c. 

Ann. Ah! here's the Jew that comes every 
year to our village — I've no money now, and I 
oon't regret it ; how could it be so well disposed 
of asRs^isting a father in distress? 

Isa. {Looking over the hedge.) Knives, scissars, 
&c. 

Jinn. We want nothing now, good man, there's 
ftobody at home. 

Isa. Lookye here, matimoiselle, here's the 
fine tings all fresh from Paris — here's the thim- 
bles, the crosses, &c. 

Ann. I tell you, we want nothing now. 

Isa. Don't be anger, matimoiselle — no fach6 
— I'm lodg'd in te fite horse in te village, two 
^ays, no more, if you vants any ting in my little 
vay. 

Jnn. Very well — very well. 

Isa. Gentile Demoiselle, vary pretty knives, 
scissars, &;c. [Exit, r.h.u.e. Music, 

Enter Blaisot, r.h.u.e. running down the hill. 

Blais. Here he is ! I saw him first. 

Ann. You saw him, Blaisot? 

Blais To be sure ? did. " Blaisot my boy," 
says he, '•'- how is my dear Annette ?" She's dy- 
ing to see you, says I — you're grown a very 
handsome fellow ; and then, says he, catching 



THE MAGPIE. 19 

bold oi my hand, he gave it such a squeeze, that 
I can hardly open my fingers. 

Ann. Oh ! Richard, and is it true that we may 
once more — (Music.) What do I hear? 

Blais. VVhy the fiddles to be sure — arn't the 
whole village, in their best Sunday clothes com- 
ing to Master Richard's fete ? — here they are, 
here they are. 

Ann, I can hardly breathe with joy. 

Enter Richard, Gervas, Dame, and all the Vil- 
lagers coming down the hill. — Richard^ when 
he sees Annette., runs forward to embrace her. 

Rich. My belovM Annette. 

Ann. Oh ! Mr. Richard. 

Gerv. Bravo '. bravo ! — come my firiends : make 
haste with the supper Dame. 

Dame. Poor Richard must be so hungry after 
his long march. 

Rich. No, mother, I don't think of eating now. 

Dame. Come, Miss Annette, is there nothing 
to do? 

Gerv. Easy, wife, let them ask one another 
how they do. 

Dame. Yes; but I don't like 

Gerv. I say you do like to see our Richard ar- 
rive ; ar'n't you glad to see him so strong, and 
healthy, and gay ? 

Dame. Do you hear your father, Richard ? 
He asks me if I am glad to see you — why i'm 
mad with joy. 

Rich. Dear mother, I know it. {Embraces her.) 



20 THE MAGPIE. 

Gerv. That's it— that's as it should be. 

Rich. {To Annette) How much you are im- 
proved, my dear Annette ! 

Gerv. [To the Villagers.) Come, my friends, 
here's a barrel of old wine to drink Richard's 
health in. 

Fill. Thank ye, thank ye, farmer Gervas. 

Ann. (To Richard.) You sometimes thought 
of poor Annette ? 

Rich. Oh !— always — never a moment from 
my thoughts. {They all sit.) 

A Dance. 

Dame. {Ensiling at the table.) Put that dish 
here — that's Richard's favorite dish — set it be- 
fore him. 

Gerv. Blaisot, tap this fellow ; {Pointing to the 
barrel.) bleed him without mercy. 

Blais. We'll not leave a drop in his body. 

Gerv. {To Richard.) There he is I why the 
sia^ht of him makes me ten years younger. What 
do you say of Annette ? Isn't she 

Rich. Handsomer than ever I 

Gerv. Not a word of that now — mum. — Well, 
Richard, you quit us no more. 

Rich, '^'o, father; having served my country 
with honour, I have now a right to share my 
father's labours, and make his life comfortable 
and happy. 

Gerv. Dear boy ! 

Dame. Now for it, every thing's ready, let 
us sit down. 



THE MAGPIE. 21 

Gerv. Richard, there's your place, near your 
mother — Annette sits here — if the BaiiHe comes, 
he shall sit there, and you, master Thomas, and 
farmer Lucas sit down. Blaisot, take care. 
There dance away ; here's Richard's health ! 
{All touch glasses.] health and joy to onr friends 
and neighbours. — {Rising.) — Bravo, bravo ; now, 
my friends, all go into the inclosures, under the 
chesnut-trees, and we will follow and join in the 
dance. Blaisot, carry bottles and glasses, and 
when they want filling, there's the fountain. 
{Points to the barrel.) 

Blais. Yes, master Gervas, here we go ; fol- 
low me, boys. [Mttsic — Exeunt dancers at the gate. 

Rich. And now, mother, before it is dark, I 
must go and see my dear uncle ! 

Gerv. Do so, Richard, the sight of you will 
cure the gout, I warrant me. What do you say, 
wife, let's go along with him, and see my poor 
brother ? 

Dame. To be sure — it's quite right ; Annette, 
child, do you stay here ; you know what you 
have to do ? 

Ann Yes, ma'am. 

Rich. Dear Annette, we shall not be long. 

Ann. Adieu, dear Richard. 

Gerv. Here take my arm, wife. 

Dame. Not I indeed i here^s the arm that I 
^hall never quit again. 

[Exeunt with Richard over platform. 



22 THE MAGPIE: 

Enter EvRARD, disguised in an old great coat and 
flapped hat r.h.u.e. 

Ann. I must make haste, and put up all the 
thing's, or Dame Gervas will be so angry. Let 
me first count the plate. [Puts them one after 
another at the upper end of the table.) How I love 
thee, dear Richard ! 

Evr. [Hesitating and looking about.) This 
must be the fiirm-house. 

Ann. It's all right, the number is exact. 

Evr. My daughter! — If I could but speak to 
her alone. 

Jinn. He's such a charming young man ! — how 
he vowed to me at the very table, that he would 
make me the happiest of wives. 

Evr. My poor child ! and I am come to des- 
troy all her prospects I cruel destiny ! 

Jinn. What is this ! — the poor man looks dis- 
tressed. What is the matter, good friend ? 

Evr. (Discovering himself.) My child ! 

Ann (she thrones down the last spoon., and runs 
to embrace him.) My dearest father ! 

Evr. Hush ! speak softly. 

Ann. Good heavens 1 — why ? 

Evr. Last night our regiment came to Paris ; 
I asked permission to come and embrace my 
child — but for one day ; — the commanding- 
officer refused me — I urged — I entreated — he an- 
swered me harshly and cruelly — I upbraided him 
with want of feeling. It was imprudent, I con- 
fess ; he lifted his cane to strike me, when, for- 
getting the subordination due from a soldier to 



THE MAGPIE. 23 

his officer, I drew my sabre, and would have 
put him to instant death, if my comrades had not 
prevented me. 

Atm. Oh, horror ! 

Evr. Orders were immediately given to arrest 
me ; but, beloved by my fellow soldiers, they 
assisted my escape ; vvitn the little money you 
sent me, 1 bought this disguise, and at day break 
my brave friend, St. Clair, conducted me to the 
wood hard by. 

Ann. My dearest father, let us still hope — 

Evr. No, my child, it is in vain ; the court- 
martial must assemble this morning, and sen- 
tence of death will be infallibly be pronounced. 

Ann. Then remain with us : with your child 
there is yet safet3^ Mr. Gervas — his wife — his 
son — I am sure will do every thing. 

Evr. How, Annette ! plunge your benefactors 
in danger. No, this village is too near Paris ; 
since I have been lucky enough to find you alone, 
promise me — swear to me, by the duty and 
affection you owe your father, that you will 
never discover to human being, m.y imprudence 
or my fate. 

Jinn. Not to Mr. Gervas ? 

Evr. Not even to him, if you wish to save 
your father from despair, promise me never to 
reveal his unfortunate story. 

Ann. I solemnly promise. 

Evr. It is for your sake, m}' beloved child, 
that I demand this promise ; you have (unknow- 
ingly) confided to me your hopes; it is of conse- 
'^uencc to you, that neither Richard or his pa= 



24 THE MAGPIE. 

rents should be even acquainted with my disgrace' 
I am known in the regiment only by my assumed 
name of Evrard, and none suspect me to be 
Farmer Granville — the death of the poor soldier, 
Evrard, will excite no attention ; and if they 
hear it in this house, they will little think it is 
their old friend. 

Ann. Oh ! my father, if nothing but flight and 
eternal exile will do, happiness is banished 
from Annette's thoughts ; we'll fly together, 
always with you ; I shall but breathe for your 
safety — I will partake of all your danger — live 
or die in the arms of my father. 

Evr. Best of children ! Heaven forbid I should 
accept such a sacrifice — alone, and marching 
by nights in the woods and unfrequented paths, 
there may be still a hope that passing the fron- 
tiers safely — 

Ann. {She sees the Baillie coming at a distance.) 
Good Heaven — somebody — it's the Baillie. 

E-vr. Cruel interruption ! I had something 
more to tell you. 

Ann. 'Tis impossible now. here is the vile 
Baillie; sit down at the corner of the table ; and 
cover your uniform. {He crossses to r.u. and 
sits doimi at the upper end.) 

Enter the Baillie at the gate., r.h.u.e. 

Bail, (l.h ) There she is, and alone! I met 
Dame Gervas and the family in the square. 
(Aside.) I'm come apropos to tind the beautiful 
Annette at last by herself. 



THE MAGPIE. 25 

Ann. Come, my poor man, take this glass of 
wine ; it will comfort you, and give you strength 
to continue your journey. 

Bail. Good day — good day, beautiful Annette. 

Ann. Your servant, Mr. Baillie. 

Bail. Who is that man ? 

Ami. A poor traveller, quite worn out with 
hunger and fatigue ; I made the poor man sit 
down and refresh himself a little. 

Bail. Very right, very right — always charita- 
ble, but when shall I have any kindness in re- 
turn for 

Ann. Drink a little more, don't you find your- 
self better? 

Pretend to fall asleep. {Aside to him.) Mr. and 
Mrs. Gervas are gone out, Mr. Baillie. 

Bail. No matter— I'm not in a hurry; 1 can 
wait for them. [Evrard appears to sleep., but looks 
up at times.) 

Ann. Excuse me, Mr. BaiUie — be so good as 
to leave me. 

Bail. No, little chicken, I wont be so good as 
to lose this opportunity — but will that man stay 
forever? you ought to 

Ann. Let the poor man sleep a little, I'm sure 
he wants it. 

Bail. If he's asleep, I don't care. (Aside.) 
Come here, Annette — you know how I long to 
talk to you. {Takes her hand, which she with- 
draws.) Nay, don't be angry. [Evrard looks up.) 

Ann. You know, Mr. Baillie, that I don't like 
any such — 
3 * 



26 THE MAGPIE. 

Bail. Aye, aye ; no jokes with the BailHe : 
you donU like tins, and you don't hke that, but 
you do like to see such a man as me captivated 
—well, 1 confess it, you have won my heart, 
you little witch ! 

Evr. Insolent dotard ! (^Jiside.) 

Ann. How shall I get rid of him ? (^Aside.) 

Bail. Come, my little angel, I see you don't 
mean to be always cruel — the devil — here's my 
servant. 

Enter Georget at the Gate., r.h.u.e. 



Geor. {In centre.) Mr. Baillie, here's a pacquet 
to be delivered immediately. 

Bail. Who brought it ? 

Geor. A soldier. 

Bail. Let me see — you may go, Georget. 

[Exit., Georget at the gate, r.h.u.e. 

Ann. A soldier ! [Aside.) 

Bail. Let me see — w here's my spectacles — 
where can I have left them ? in the house, I 
suppose ; let us try to make it out ! [Holding 
the letter at a distance from him.) Hum : " Mr. 
Baillie." "• Description" — soldier, '" Evrard ;" 
hum. 

Jinn. Good heaven ! [Aside.) 

Evr. AlFs lost ! [Aside.) 

Bail. It's in vain, 1 cannot read any more of it 
without my spectacles — no matter — it's only the 
old story — some deserter — why, Annette may as 
well read it for me — do, my dear girl, just read 
this a little. 



THE MAGPIE. 27 

Jinn. Why not go home, Mr. Baillie, and read 
it at your leisure ? 

Bail. It's not worth while, I tell you, to go so 
far ; won t you oblige me ? 

Ann. (^Trembling.) '^ Mr. Baillie, enclosed is 
the description of a soldier of the Royal Regi- 
ment of Champain, condemned to death {Falter- 
ing ) by a court-martial." 

Evr. Ah ! 1 was sure of it ! {Aside.) 

Jinn. By name — 

Bail. A tritie — what signifies being so affect- 
ed about such nonsense ? read on, read on. 

Ann. Every thing is lost if I go on — ^forty-five 
years old, five feet ten inches high. {Aside.) 

Bail. Well, can't ?/o?« make it out? 

Ann. The writing is so small and cramp. 

Bail. Small ! why it looked to me the finest 
large round hand — if I had but my spectacles — 

Ann. Yes, yes ; now 1 look again, it's quite 
plain ; Heaven inspire me. {Aside.) By name 
"Louis Evrard." Aged twenty-three years. 

Bail. Poor young man ! 

Ann. Six feet three inches — 

Bail. The devil ! he's a giant ! 

Ann. Large, blue eyes, flaxen hair — 

Bail. Why, he's an Adonis too ! " Large, blue 
eyes ! flaxen hair!" 

A7in. {Looking at her father^ s black gaiters.) 
And long white gaiters, i he Bailhe of Palais- 
eau IS desired to take immediate measures for 
arresting the above soldier, if he should pass 
through any of the places within his jurisdiction, 
and distribute copies of the enclosed at the^ — 



28 THE MAGPIE. 

Bail. Aye, aye, at the different outposts.— 
Very well; it shall be done. Give me the pa- 
pers. — Eh! let me see — we may as well ex- 
amine this man a little. (Crosses to centre^ goes 
up to Evrard^ who pretends to be asleep^ and taps 
him on the shoulder.) Friend ! stand up — take off 
your hat. 

Ann. I'm ready to expire. {Aside.) 

Bail. Twenty-three years old — six feet three 
— blue eyes — flaxen hair. Ha ! ha ! ha ! a good 
hit made of here. There, go your way, good 
man. 

Ann. Thank Heaven ! (Aside.) Speed you well, 
my poor man : good bye. — Hide yourself there 
till he is gone. (Aside.) [Evrard retires^ l.h.u.e. 

Bail. Upon my word, Mr. Louis Evrard, with 
your blue eyes and flaxen hair, I would have 
you keep out of my clutches. 

Ann. Now, Mr. Baillie, I must beg of you to 
leave me to finish my work. 

Bail. Certainly, certainly, my little angel ! 
but upon one condition — Promise to think upon 
what I told you, and give a kiss as a pledge. 

Evr. (Appears.) The villain ! (Aside.) 

Bail. Somebody spoke. 

Ann. He is discovered ! (Bnt observing the 
the Alagpie., who has come out of his cage, and was 

then on a branch of the tree over the table she says \ 

Look, Mr. BaiUie ! 

Bail. Ah ! I see — Dame Gervas's cursed Mag- 
pie 1 But, Annette, remember the condition. 

(Goes to kiss her.) 



THE MAGPIE. 29 

J/m. Mr. Baillie ! (With great dignity.) — Be- 
gone, or you shall repent. 

Bail Threatening too ! I should like to know 
who is to prevent me from — 

Ann. Some one who will punish this inso- 
lence. 

Bail. What do I hear ? A servant dare to 
treat me so ! Me ! Chrisostome Athanasius de 
Rocher, BaiUie de Palaiseau ! 1 know where 
all this pride and impertinence proceeds : it is 
upon Richard, your master's son, that you have 
your views; but you shall know what it is to 
affront a Baillie ; you shall repent this ! — A sau- 
cy, impertinent servant maid, indeed! I'm in 
office, hussy ! and may chance to teach you, 
that, when little folks forget their respect to 
great ones, great ones never forget to remem- 
ber it. 

[Music. — Exit^ muttering at gate^ r.h.u.e. 

Enter Evrard, /rom l.h.u.e. 

Evr. And to be obliged to bear such an outrage ! 

Am. Be calm, my dear father : my fears were 
but for you ; and, now we are alone, you had 
something more to tell me. 

Evr. Yes, my child ; — my money is all ex- 
hausted. 

A7in. And, alas ! I have none. 

Evr. I know it ; you sent me all you possess- 
ed. But one thing remains : here is my last 
resource — a silver spoon of your poor mother'?, 
which I have kept to this moment. 



30 THE MAGPIE. 

Jinn. My mother's ! {She takes and kisses it.) 
Evr. I hoped to have kept it all my life — but 
hard necessity ! You may perhaps be able to 
dispose of it in the village this evening ; but do 
it discreetly. I observed an old tree near the 
road, at the entrance of this little wood j it has 
a hollow in it. 
^nn. I know it. 

Evr. Whatever little money the spoon will 
bring, you can deposit it in that hollow, in the 
course of to-night ; and, at day break, I shall be 
there to receive it. 

Ann. At day-break ! I fear I shall not have 
time — stop a moment — yes, perhaps, in an hour 
or two. The Jew, who was here a while ago 
— Yes, my dear father, the money shall be there 
this very night. 

Evr. Adieu, then, my child ; this may be the 
last embrace ! 
Ann. My father ! 

[She conducts him through the rustic gate, 
R.H.u.E. following him with her ey-es^ and 
then exit into the cottage., l.h.s.e. — when 
the curtain drops. Previous to this., the 
Magpie hops from the branch upon the 
table., and., taking a spoon into his beak., has 
Jiown across the stage behind the scenes. 
This takes place when Annette is looking 
after her father .^ and before she goes into 
the cottage. 

END OF THE FIRST ACT. 



THE MAGPIE 31 



ACT II. 



SCENE I. — A room in the farm-house ; door in 
front ; a window at each side ; a large table^ on 
which are heaps of plates, glasses, 4*c. and, atone 
end of it, the basket of knives, forks, and-^spoons. 
In a corner of the room is seen the Magpie in a 
cage, hung up against the wall. 

Annette, going to the door in front, that looks into 
the street. 

Ann. The Jew, I fear, is really gone. To 
offer me so little ! — it would be of no use to my 
poor father ; and time passes. [Looking out with 
anxiety.) If he does not come back, what shall 
I do ? and what will become of him, if he does 
not find the money in the hollow tree ? he must 
wait till night — and then, perhaps, it may be too 
late ! If I could but see the Jew again — he 
might give me a little more — {Isaac speaks 6e- 
hind.) — I hear him — how lucky ! 

Enter Isaac, m.d. 

Isa. Knives ! scissars ? — Fell, miss, I give 
turteen shillings — can't gif more, upon my con- 
schience. 

Aim. Thirteen shillings ! I must have stolen 
it to take so little. 

Isa. That's not my business. 



32 THE MAGPIE. 

Atin. It's a shame, 

Isa. Veil — I gif fifteen shillings — that is the 
lasht. 

Ann. Go your ways. 

Isa. I'm a going, matimoiselle. 

Ann. I must take it, here. 

Isa. Good — I was going to gif seventeen. 

{Aside.) 

Ann. Make haste — somebody may come. 

Isa. 1 undershitxnd— [Counting the money.)- four- 
teen, fifteen. 

Ann. Very well, it's all right — go away. 

[Exit, Isaac, m.d. 

Enter Blaisot, d.f. at the other side. 

Blais. (r.h.) What have you been selling to 
that ugly Jew ? 

Ann. (Putting her money in her pocket.) I want- 
ed a little money, Blaisot, so I have been selling 
him something. 

Blais. Say for nothing at all — these Jews are 
such Jews ! mercy on us. 

Ann. Yes, but I was in such distress for a little 
money. 

Blais. And was'nt Blaisot's leather purse at 
your service, Miss Annette ? aye, and to the last 
farthing, small as it is. 

A7m. Thank you good Blaisot ; but leave me 
now. I have got so much to do this morning. 

Blais. And so have I too — ecod, Dame Gervas 
keeps us to it finely, [Exit running off, m.d 



THE xMAGPIE. 33 

Ann. Now to the hollow tree : my poor fa- 
ther must be so impatient; ah! — {Stopped by 
Richard who enters at m.d.) 

Rich (l.h.) Dear Annette, good morning. 

Jinn. So early, Mr. Richard ! 

Rich. I could not sleep, the pleasure of being 
again with my family, the joy of finding my An- 
nette still faithful, and the hope of soon calling 
her mine, agitated me so much, that I have not 
closed my eyes — and you, my dear girl ! 

Ann. Ah, Richard ! I could not sleep either. 

Rich. What is the matter ? you look alarmed ! 

Ann. Me ! not at all, Richard— my father wait- 
ing all this time ! {Aside.) 

Rich. You are unhappy — tell me. 

Ann. No, indeed — nothing at all — I must be 
gone for a moment — adieu, dear Richard ! 

Rich. One instant ; 1 must enquire ; my mo- 
ther, perhaps, has been saying something. 

An7i. Your mother ! I'll let him think so. 
{Aside.) Ah, Richard ! I fear Dame Gervas will 
never consent to your marrying the daughter of 
a poor soldier. 

Rich. And what am I, then ? it is my pride and 
boast to be a soldier — and what state more ho- 
nourable than his, who is ever ready to face all 
perils in the service of his country ? 

.1 
hnter Gervas, l.h. 

Gerv. Ah, here they are together ! very well, 
very well, my dear children ! Eh ! what's a 
clock ? 

4 



34 THE MAGPIE. 

Rich. About six, father. 

Gerv. Six — why I overslept myself. 

Ann. It will be too late! (^Jlside.) 

Gerv. It's your fault, Richard ; one sleeps so 
sound when the heart is at ease ! 

Rich. And yet mine, father, never was so 
much at ease, and I have not slept a wink. 

Gerv. Aye ; but Richard, this love, they say, 
is a terrible disturber. 

Ann. If I could but get away! (^Retiring to the 
door. 

Gerv. Am I right, Annette ? what are you 
doing there a mile off? come here, I say [She 
comes down^ l.h.) none of your little demure 
looks — they don't become you, my dear child, 
listen to me. [Taking a hand of each of them un- 
der his arm.) We must begin a battery against 
my wife, this very day. 

Rich. Yes, father, this very day. 

Ann. Alas ! (Aside.) 

Gerv. Don't be afraid, little coward ! I'll tell 
you how it will be — she'll scold, fume, fret. — 
Lord ! how she will give it to us all ! well, well 
— let her go to the end of her letter, and then 1 
— no, then you, Richard, you'll begin. 

Rich. And why not you, lather ? 

Gerv. No, no. I should spoil all, I tell you — 
my Dame is one of the best women in the 
world ; but the truth is, that i. I am of one opi- 
nion, it's quite enough that she should be of an- 
other ; there's no help for it. 

Rich. Well father, 1 shall begin. 



THE MAGPIE. 36 

Gerv. That's it — she's so fond of yon, that she 
may Hsten a little, and then we'll tell her, that 
Annette, though not rich, has a hundred good 
qualities, more necessary in a wife — eh ! where 
the devil is she running ? {Annette retiring at last^ 
makes her escape, r.h.) Annette ' Annette ! ah ! 
there's my wife g©t hold of her. 

Dame with Annette, cojne forward, r.h. 

Dame. Where are you going in such a hurry, 
Miss ? one would think there was nothing to do 
in the house — good morning, Richard, how do 
you do child, after your fatigue ? 

Rich, Very well, mother, and you, I hope — 

Dame. Mercy ! what a room ! nothing set to 
rights — plates, glasses, standing about — did any 
body ever see such disorder? and you {To fa- 
ther and son.) there you stand looking at each 
other, and won't leave me to settle my house- 
hold affairs {Ann. sits down. r.h.u.e.) 

Gerv. Well, wife, we're going. Richard, bet- 
ter choose another time — there's a storm brew- 
ing ; come along, boy. 

Rich. But shall we leave Annette ? 

Grev. Aye, aye ; she's us'd to it — let us go. 
[Exeunt Gervas and Richard, m.d. 

Dame. What have they been all three talking 
about 1 some secret from me, I dare say. — An- 
nette, do you know any thing? 

Ann. I, ma'am ! 

Dame. Hem ! hem 1 there's something or 
other ; but I'll get to the bottom of it—if peo- 



.% THE MAGPIE. 

pie think I am to be deceived, they don't know 
Dame Gervas — I have a tongue that can speak, 
and a head that won't follow other people's opi- 
nion, believe me-come, child, help to put things 
to rights; take away these V'ates ar.d ^'a^ses; 
where's the basket with the silver forks and 
spoons ? 

Ann. Here it is ma'am. 

Dame. Very well — I shall count them over. 
(^She reckons and talks alternately., uhile Annette 
is occupied in carrying things from the table into 
another room behind the scenes.) Well, sure 
enough, vve had a very pleasant fete of it I for 
our dear Richard! and poor farmer Lucas! he 
had a dose of wine, and how his wife did talk ! 
oh Lord — eleven forks — how people can go on 
all day chattering so, is quite wonderful ! one, 
two, three ; and her daughters! seven, eight. I 
hope they danced enough at last : such jumpers 
I never saw ! ten, eleven ! 1 must be mistaken 
— {Counts them again.) ten — eleven — no more — 
there it is ! so here's a spoon wanting now. 

Ann. How ! a spoon ? (Goes to count them.) 

Dame. Yes^^ount them yourself; there were 
eleven forks — here they are ; and twelve spoons. 

Jl}in. Ten, eleven. I can see no more; and 
yet I'm sure I paid the greatest attention. 

Dame. So it seems, miss ! but let's see — look 
about under the table — it is really inconceiva- 
ble. (Calling.) Farmer Gervas, what are you 
doing out there ? Come to me directly, Blaisot. 



THE MAGPIE. 37 



Enter Blaisot, m.d. 

Go along' and look under he tree where we sup- 
ped, and see if you can find a spoon. 

[Music. — Exit Blaisot^ m.d. 

Enter Gervas, m.d. 

Gerv. (l.h.) What's the matter, wife ? what 
are you in such a fuss about ? what spoon ? 

Dame. Yes, indeed, this time a spoon is lost.^ 
Well, Annette, can't you find it ? 

Ann. No, ma'am ; I have looked every where 
—how disagreeable it is ! 

Dame. Yes, miss, very disagreeable, and very 
extraordinary too, give me leave to say, to lose 
two such valuable things in the same way. 

Gerv. Pah ! it will be found bye and bye. 

Dame, It's enough to set one mad to see how 
easily you take things, Mr. Gervas ; but it shall 
not pass as it did before — I shall insist upon ex- 
amining — 

Gerv. There, she is at her tantrums again ! as 
if every thing that's missing for a moment must 
be stolen. 

Dame. Mighty well, mighty well ! 

Enter Blaisot, m.d. 

Blais. (l.h.) I've searched and searched all 
under and over — no more spoon than on the back 
of my hand — ecod, I have it. — 
4 * 



38 THE MAGPIE. 

Gerv. What ! the spoon ? 
Blais. No ; but, for my part, I think the spoon 
must be gone after the fork. 
Gerv. Fool! 

Dame. Not such a fool either ; but did you 
look every — 

Blais. Not only look'd myself, but I met 
Georget, the Baillie"'s man, and he help'd me ; 
but not the spoon we could find. 

Gerv. And a wise thing it was of you to tell 
that prating fellow any thing about it. 

Dame. It's lucky he did, Mr. Gervas — it's na 
harm if the Baillie himself knew it — the same 
accident cou'dn't happen twice without some— - 
in short, Mr. Gervas, the spoon must be stolen — 
and who took it ? 

Mag. Annette — Annette ! 
Ann. Oh ! Heaven ! 

Gerv. {Laughing.) Ha, ha ! listen to that non- 
sensical bird. 

Dame. It's rather singular, you must allow. 
Gerv. {To Annette.) What are you crying for, 
child ? Do you think 1 mind what that bird says ; 
and my wife, I am sure, has too much sense, 
too much justice to imagine for a moment — is it 
not so wife ? 

Dame. Surely — I don't believe — I am far from 
thinking — I don't accuse any body ; but a silver 
spoon is a silver spoon, and the spoon is gone, 
Mr. Gervas, and I must suspect somebody. 

Blais. Ecod then, mayhap you suspect Blaisot ; 
but I scorn your words, and dang it, if I was to 
go for to think you meant as 1 had any hand in 
it — {Muttering in a great passion.) 



THE MAGPIE. 39 

Dame. Nobody spoke to you, blockhead ! 

Blais. Aye, blockhead and a blockhead may 
be a very honest man, 1 d have you to know. 

Ann. {In great distress. My good Biaisot. don't 
you see, it is not to you that all this is directed, 
but to me ? I am very unfortunate. 

{Retires up the stage.) 

Gerv. Hush ! here's the Baillie. 

Dame. So much the better. 

Enter the Baillie, m.d. 

Bail. {In centre.) What's the matter here, 
neighbours? Georget has been telhng me of a 
robbery ! Eh ! something about a silver spoon ; 
I ordered my clerk to follow me — we must ex- 
amine — 

Gerv. Not at all, Mr. BailUe— there are no 
thieves in my house — nothing has been stolen. 

Bail. However, I am informed — 

Dame. My husband doesn't know what he says. 
I'll tell you, Mr. Baillie — here's a silver spoon 
missing, we must know what has become of it, 
and I am sure you will do your duty. 

Bail. Most judiciously expressed, Dame Ger- 
Tas. What, sir ! was there not a silver fork 
missing a fortnight ago ? and is it found yet ? 
And now a spoon ! The case is evident — House- 
breaking — household robbery ! I must examine 
witnesses — take depositions. 

Gerv. Pshaw ! Mr. Baillie, it's a trifle. 

Bail. Trifle, indeed ! Hanging matter, I say I 
Where is my clerk ? {Looking about sees Annette.) 



40 THE MAGPIE. 

So^ Miss Annette, you can read papers pret- 
tily, I see. 

Gerv. What? {To Annette.) 

Bail. Only a cunning trick of this young lady, 
while I was looking for my spectacles, to save a 
notorious culprit. — I shall remember it. 

Enter Gripeall, m.d. 

Bail. Have you sent the gens d'armes? 

Grip. They are in waiting. 

Bail. And my servant Georget — 

Grip. Is with them. 

Bail. Good ! Now, Farmer Gervas, and you. 
Dame Gervas, sit down, if you please, both of 
you. A table here. [Gripiall and Baillie sit 
down to a table opposite ; Gripeall takes out of his 
pockety papers.^ pens., and ink.) Write the pream- 
ble — In the year of our lord, 1760, came before 
us We shall begin by examining all present 

Blais. Aye, do. I don't value you three skips 
of a grasshopper. 

Ann. There's nobody here afraid, Mr. Baillie. 

Bail. First deposition. — Dame Gervas depo- 
seth, that about a fortnight ago, a large silver 
fork was stolen from her house — ditto this day, 
a large silver spoon, same value, and stolen by 
the same person. 

Dame. I don't say that, Mr. Baillie — I don't 
know who took them. 

Bail. Silence ! we must stick to the ferms of 
the law. Now, Dame Gervas, I ask you who 



THE MAGPIE. 41 

is the person in your house who has the care of 
your house who has the care of your plate ? 
:y Dame. Annette. 

^)^f Bail Ah, ah ! pretty innocent ! — Now is my 
/urn. {^Aside.) Strong presumption against the 
said Annette. 

Ann. Against me ! just Heaven ! [Advances to 
the centre.) 

Bail. Her family name ? 

Dame. Granville. 

Gerv. Stop a Uttle. I must tell you, Mr. Bail- 
lie, Annette was never responsible. 

Bail. Write down Annette Granville. 

Gerv. But speak, wife. 

Dame. Mr. Baillie, I don't say Annette is by 
any means — 

Bail. No — you don't say, I know, but you con- 
fide in Annette, and particularly all your silver 
plate ; and, therefore, upon her naturally falls 
the first suspicion. 

Blois. (r.h.) And so, Mr. Baillie, if I have the 
care of the pigs, and one of them throws himself 
into a pit, I'm to be suspected of eating 'em. — 
Dang such law ! 

Bail. Silence ! impertinent ! Dame Gervas 
further deposeth. 

Ann. And you, madam, don't contradict this 
unjust — this vile insinuation !— wretched Annette ! 
^Pulls out her handkerchief to wipe her eyes., the 
money she got from the Jeuy, being wrapped up in 
it.) falls on the stage.) 

Dame. What is all this? 

Ann. [Picking up the money in a hurry.) It be- 
longs to me, ma'am ! 



42 THE MAGPIE. 

Dame. To you t and we know it was but the 
other day you sent ev'ry farthing you had to 
your father. 

Gerv. True, Annette. — How comes it then? 

Ann. And you, too, Mr. Gervas. — Oh ! by every 
thing that is sacred, 1 swear this money is mine. 

Gerv. I believe you, my child ; but I only wish 
to know — 

Bixil Write down, " Aggravating circumstan- 
ces." 

Blais. Stop a minute, old Quill. {To Gripeall.) 
It is Annette's money. — I know all about it. 

Gerv. Speak then, Blaisot. 

Blais. Don't you know Isaac, the Jew ? there, 
below, at the White Horse, in the village ! now, 
to my knowledge, he gave Miss Annette money 
this morning, for some bits of old things she 
sold'um. 

Bail. A Jew ! here we have it. 

Dame. Now, Mr. Gervas, is it pretty clear ? 

Gerv. Annette, does Blaisot speak the truth? 

Ann. He does. 

Dame. Let her tell us what she sold. — It could 
not be her cross, for there it is. 

Ann. My cross ! [Looking at it.) would to heav- 
en it was I 

Bail. Write down, said "Stolen article was 
sold to a Jew." Let me see that money. — (Ann. 
gives the money to Gerv. who throws it on the table.^ 
— Qive it to me, 1 say. 

4nn. What, my last resource ! {Falling on her. 
knees.} 1 conjure you, Mr. Baillie, leave me that 
money ; it is a sacred trust. What I sold, be- 



THE MAGPIE. 43 

Jonged to me — Pity my despair. — I am as inno- 
cent as yourself of this. 

Bail. Paid into court — [Puts it into his pocket.) 
Bad affair ! the Jew is a damning proof; and this 
very day, the judge comes in his rounds to Palai- 
seau. Now write down, Biaisot deposeth, that 
he saw fifteen shillings given by the said Jew to 
the said Annette Granville for a silver-spoon. 

Blais. I tell you it's a lie ! and PU knock your 
paper about your head, if you come for to write— 

Bail. Contempt of court ! commit him. — Make 
out a mittimus. 

Blais. Here I thought to save the poor girl, 
and I made it all worse. — Dear me ! dear me ! 

Gerv. Mr. Baillie— I protest against this way 
of going on. — We must have the proper wit- 
nesses. 

BaiL True ! we must hear the Jew. 

Blais. And, by the mass, if he's above ground, 
I'll bring 'urn here : that will repair all. 

{Runs off^ M.D.) 

Gerv. Annette ; perhaps the Jew will come ? 
{Observing her.) 

Ann. Oh I I hope so, and quickly. 

Rich. ( Without, m.d.) Annette ! 

Enter Richard, r.ii. 

Ann. Richard ! 

Rich. {On R.H. of Ann.) Tell me, father, Biai- 
sot has been saying — who dares to accuse Ann- 
ette of any crime ? 

Ann. Oh ! Richard, you will not believe — 



44 THE MAGPIE. 

Rich. Never, my beloved girl ! you, whose 
noble heart and rectitude of conduct, have at- 
tached me more than your beauty. 

Dame. What do you say, my son ? 

Rich. Yes, mother ; for to her only will Rich- 
ard be united for ever. 

Dame. You don't know what you say — you are 
ignorant of what has passed. — This girl — 

Rich. I know this, that my dearest Annette is 
innocent, and that I answer for it with my life, 
Mr. Baillie, you may retire ; your presence is 
no longer necessary. 

Bail. Hey-day — chaos is come again. 

Rich. Carry off your cursed scrawls, and don't 
let my ears be offended with your calumnies. 

Bail. Young man, young man, justice is not to 
be interrupted by j^our audacious sallies — here 
are proofs of household robbery, and 

Rich. Falsehood ; it is not so ; my father — 

Gerv. I hope it will turn out so. 

Bail. Read the depositions, read the discovery 
of the money found upon the defendant, which 
money was given to her this morning by a Jew, 
for the article in question : read, read. 

Rich. Very well, 1 know it — the whole pro- 
ceeding is infamous — and these are your proofs! 
because Annette sold something that belonged 
to her, and probably to assist the unfortunate ; 
for I know her goodness : and because, by mere 
chance at the same time, some little piece of 
plate is missing in the house, can you dare to 
conclude from that, that Annette is guilty ? 
Tremble, Mr. Justice to increase the number of 



THE MAGPIE. 45 

those fatal judgments by which too often the 
innocent and unprotected fall victims to error 
and precipitation. 

Bail. And give me leave to tell you, Mr. 
Richard, that I am not to learn my duty from a 
jackanapes, who only because he is in love with 
the defendant — 

Rich. Peace, old man ! would to Heaven that 
your motives for persecuting were as pure as 
mine for defending the innocent. 

Dame. Hold your tongue, Richard ; and Mr. 
Baillie, you need not tell us about my son's love, 
for 1 dislike it as much as you do ; but what he 
says is true enough, we must not condemn peo- 
ple in a hurry, and I had rather he was married 
to Annette, than we should suspect her wrong- 
fully. 

Gerv. Well said, wife. 

Enter Blaisot, dragging in the Jew, m.d. 

Blais. Here he is — I got hold on 'um {Aside 
to Annette.) Now Annette it will be all right. 

Ann. Speak my friend. 

Isa. O, veil den it — Tam te tevil, dere's dat 
auld Paily here. 

Rich. Come forward, Mr. Jew, and tell us — 

Bail. Hold— I must examine the witness ; your 
name, and profession ? answer, 1 say. 

Isa. Shclomon Isaac. I does a little bishness 
in de vay of trade. — I puys of some peoples, and 
sells to Oder peoples, but all upon my conshince. 

Bail Do you know this young girl ? 
5 



46 THE MAGPIE. 

Isa. Yesh, I do. 

Bail. What was it she sold you this morning ? 

Isa. Vat vash it I pought of you, my tear? — 
(To Annette., aside.) — it vash one silver shpoon. 

Gerv. ^ 

Dame. > A silver spoon I 

Blais. ) 

Rich, What do you say, villain ? 

Jinn. The truth, Richard — Show the spoon 1 
sold you. 

Isa. Dat's impossible, my tear. I shold it 
directly to my friend Abrahams, and 1 don't 
know where he's gone. 

Ann. Then I am lost ! 

Gerv. Annette, where did you get this spoon? 

Ann. Good Mr. Gervas, do not ask me ; I can- 
not, must not tell you. 

Blais. Here's another pretty job I made of it, 
to bring this cursed Jew here ! 

Bail. Silence in the court ! you all see now 
that the evidence is conclusive. 

Rich. I am thunderstruck ! 

Ann. Bitter humiliation, and still to tremble 
for my poor father's life I merciful Heaven ! — 

Dame. I begin to pity her from my heart. 

Bail. {^Coming forward.) Come, young lady, 
it can't be help'd, but you must to prison. 

All. To prison ! 

Gerv. But, BIr. Baillie, can't we settle this 
matter? 

Bail. Impossible, Mr. Gervas ; it is too late. 
[Isaac stealing off to^aards m.d. 

Rich. Stop that villain, a thought has struck 
me — mother, fetch one of our spoons. 



THE MAGPIE. 47 

Dame. Directly, my son ! 
[Exit^ and shortly after Re-enters with a spoon. 

Enter Gens D''Armes^ m.d. 

Rich. Describe the spoon you bought. 

Isa. Veil, veil, I shall speak de truth. 

Rich. Was it plain, or otherwise ? the form, 
weight, arms, or cypher ? 

Isa. It had a shyfer. 

Rich. Take care. 

Isa. Veil, veil, I speak de truth : it was markt 
mit — mit a G. 

Ann. Fatal circumstance ! Gervas and Gran- 
ville, the same letters. 

Rich. Here, wretch ; compare and pronounce ; 
was it like this ? 

Isa. Yes, 'tis very like vat I bought — but mind, 
I can't shwear it. 

Rich. I am confounded ! 

Gerv. There must be something more in this. 

Bail. To prison, to prison with her ; the Jew 
may be discharged. 

[Exeunt^ Isaac, Bailie^ and Man. m.d. 

Ann. {In tears.) Richard ! Kichard ! 

Rich. Annette, I lov'd — I ador'd you. — My 
happiness is gone for ever. 

Ann. Richard — my friends — I am unfortunate, 
but innocent. 

Rich. Prove it then. 

Ann. It is impossible. And do you abandon 
me; {To Dame Gervas.) you think me guilty? 



48 THE MAGPIE. 

Oh ! my father ! {Aside.) Oh ! Richard, I am in- 
nocent — I am innocent. 

[The Gens d^Armes, in two Jiles^ conduct her 
— Dame covers her face with her handker- 
chief — Gervas holds his so7i, who would 
follow Annette — Blaisot lifts his hands in 
despair. Curtain falls. 

END OF THE SECOND ACT. 



ACT III. 
SCENE I.— ^ Prison. 



Annette discovered. — After a few bars of descrip- 
tive Music ^ she Advances. 

Ann. My poor father. — What will become of 
him, when he finds I have not been able to place 
the money as I promised ! and should he hear 
that his poor child is the victim of so disgraceful 
an accusation ! dreadful thought ! — If he was but 
gone before it happened. — This cross, perhaps 
— but how dispose of it? or how send the money? 
Mr. Gervas — Richard. — No, no ; they would ask 
me explanations which I cannot give. Blaisot, 
that good young man, who was so friendly in his 
offers. — Yes, I can trust him without betraying 
any thing. — I'll ask the jailor. Bertrand — Ber- 
trand. 



THE MAGPIE. 49 



Enter Bertrand, l.h.d.f. 

Bert. Here's Blaisot wants to see you. 

Ann. 'Tis fortunate ! 

Blais. {^Approaching with a melancholy air^) 
There she is, poor girl. 

Ann. Yes. I can depend upon him. [Aside.) Blai- 
sot, you can do me a great service ; but you must 
ask me no questions. 

Blais. I won't — I won't ask no questions, Miss 
Annette. 

An7i. You saw this morning they took the 
little money I had. 

Blais. Yes, Miss Annette — the Baillie has got 
hold on it ; nobody will ever see that again. 

Ann. Well then, my dear Blaisot — 

Blais. 1 see what you moan — say the word, 
and every thing poor Blaisot has is at your ser- 
vice, 

Ann. 1 know it Blaisot — and therefore I wish 
you to lend me just the same sum — here is my 
gold cross, which is worth about — 

Blais. Softly, softly, [Putting her hand back.,) 
where am I to carry the money ? 

Ann. Going out of the little wood, just by the 
Paris road, have you remarked an old hollow 
tree? 

Blais. To be sure I have. 

Ann. Well : it is in ihe hollow of that tree that 
you must leave the money this evening. 

Blais. What, in the tree ! all alone ! 

Ann. But nobody must see you ; and, above 
5 * 



50 THE MAGPIE. 

all things, I must insist that you will not remain 
there to see who comes to take it. 

Blais. Oh ! then it's perhaps — 

Ann. You promised to ask no questions. 

Blais. True, I did — leave it to Blaisot. — I 
know it's some good action — I'll do it directly. 

{Going.) 

Jinn. But, Blaisot, you forgot the cross. 

Blais. Me take your cross ! 

Ann. If you refuse me, I cannot accept — 

Blais. That's very good ! now I know what I 
am to do : I defy you. Miss Annette. 

Ann. Hear me, Blaisot — think, my good friend, 
that to-morrow, perhaps to day this little orna- 
ment can be no longer of use to Annette. 

Blais. No, no. Miss Annette, don't talk so — 
it's impossible they should be such hard heart- 
ed d — d brutes — keep your cross. 

Ann. Then accept it as a token of Annette's 
regard. 

Blais. Then I will — and if I part with it, no, 
never. (Sobbing., and crying., and going.) 

Ann. {Taking hold of his hand.) Farewell. 

Blais. Here's Richard. [£xii, l.h.d.f. 

Enter Richard, l.h.d.f. 

Rich. Forgive me, dear Annette — the idea of 
your being accused of such a crime, the appa- 
rent proofs, which you refuse to give any ac- 
count of, all affect and distract me so. that my 
very frame is disorder'd; 1 have resolved to re- 
turn to the army, to bid an eternal adieu to my 



THE MAGPIE. 51 

family, and find in a glorious death the end of 
my misfortunes, but first to take the only chance 
that remains to save me from despair — to ask 
you for the last time — are you guilty ? — • 
Ann. No, Richard ! ( With dignity,) 
Rich. By what fatality then — 
Jinn. I can prove nothing — explain nothing — 
nor make any defence — it only remains for An- 
nette to implore the Divine assistance, and la- 
ment the errors and injustice of the world. 

Rich. You have a secret then, the discovery 
of which would justily you, and you refuse to 
tell it to me, the friend of your bosom; to me, 
who would sacrifice an hundred lives to save 
your's ? 

Ann. Dear Richard ! add not to my affliction 
— the secret is not my own — besides, of what 
use could it be to me ? I have but one witness, 
and such is his unfortunate situation, that his 
evidence would not be believ'd — his own lile 
would be risk'd without saving mine — no — I 
must be silent — prudence — duty — an oath for- 
bids me. 

Rich. I know not what to think! — then sum- 
mon up all your fortitude, Annette — the judges 
are arrived — this odious Baillie, who persecutes 
you for reasons, I well know, has denounced 
you to the tribunal — and this very day — 

Ann, I may be condemned — alas ! a time will 
come, when my innocence shall be acknow- 
ledged, but poor Annette will not enjoy the tri- 
umph. 

Rich. She makes me shudder! no — she can- 



52 THE MAGPIE. 

not be guilty — such truth — such candour — im- 
possible. 

Ann. And now, Richard, I have a question to 
ask you, and I depend upon your truth and 
honour. 

Rich. Speak — rely upon them. 

Ann. If I am convicted what will your 

thoughts be ? 

Rich. That you are innocent. 

Ann. Then I shall die consoled. 

Rich. Yes, my father and mother — all — 

Ann. Ah, Madame Gervas ! 

Rich. I know you have reason to believe her 
cruel to you — but believe me, dear Annette, she 
has been miserable ever since. 

Ann. I forgive her! 

Rich. At this very moment, she and my fa- 
ther arc moving heaven and earth, to soften this 
infamous Baillie. 

Enter Bertrand, l.h.d.f. 

Bert. Young woman, you must return into the 
prison, the Baillie is coming for the last inter- 
rogation. 

Ann. Adieu, Richard. 

Rich. Adieu, dearest Annette ! 

Bert. I hear a noise below ; go in, go in ; 
quick. [Richard and Annette embrace ; Bertrand 
locks the door upon her., r.h.) 

Rich. And, for the last lime, I have seen her ! 

Bert. Farmer Gervas and his wife 1 see ; they 
can't see her now. 



THE MAGPIE. bo 

Enter Gervas a7id Dame, l.h.d.f. 

Rich. {To them.) Have you seen the Bnillie ? 

Gerv. Not yet ; they told us he was coming. 
'And is she there, dear child ? 

Dame. There; and all my fault. [Sobbing.) 

Gerv. Did you speak to her, my son ? 

Rich. Oh ! yes — and had you but seen her, 
mother \ 

Dame. Oh I Richard, she cannot reproach me 
more than I do myself; and, if it's to be the 
death of Annette, I know I shall not survive it. 

Gerv. Come, come, my dear wife ; there is 
still hope. We will speak to the Baillie ; we'll 
use every means — make every sacrifice. 

Dame. Yes, husband; we'll give him every 
thing we possess to save the poor girl j for I 
never can think her guilty in my heart. 

Rich. True, mother ; she must be innocent. 

Gerv. Has she told you any thing ? 

Rich. No ; there is some mystery, some im- 
perious duty or other, prevents her speaking. 

Gerv. Here's the Baillie, I think ; leave us, 
Richard. 

E7iter Baillie, l.h.d.f. 

Rich. I will, father ; for I dare not trust my- 
self. But if he resists your intreaties, {The Bail- 
lie advances.) he shall hear me publish the un- 
worthy motives that have urged him to oppress 
the innocent. 

Bail Mr. Richard! 



54 THE MAGPIE. 

Rich. Your servant, Mr. Baillie ; you heard 
me I hope — we were talking of you, sir. 

[Exit,f L.H.D.F. 

Dame. Pardon him, Mr. Baillie ; it is his des- 
pair makes him talk so. 

Gerv. Yes, Mr, Baillie ; and Richard would 
be the first person to acknowledge your kind- 
ness, if you comply with our wishes. 

Bail. What do you want? let us hear. 

Dame. We want you to throw all the papers 
into the fire — that's all ; and not to have us, for 
a miserable spoon, be the death of a poor girl. 

Bail It is too late, Dame Gervas ; the affair 
is before the judge. 

Gerv. I don't believe it, Mr. Baillie ; it's very 
easy to gain time — let the matter rest a httle. 

Bail. Very easy, indeed ! 

Gerv. And any sacrifice — 

Dame. Yes, we'll pay anything — I don't mean 
to you, Mr. Baillie — you are above it ; but any 
expense attending the stopping of the matter — 
we don't mind what it is. Take our silver, gold 
— take every thing ! {Crying.) 

Bail. Once again, I say, it is impossible ; and 
give me leave to tell you, that the Baillie of 
Palaiseau is not a man to be bribed. 

Gerv. And let me tell the Baillie of Palaiseau. 
that his duty is not to press this affair ; it is by 
no means a clear case, and you wouli? have 
much to answer for, if 

Bail. I know what I have to answer for; I am 
not apt to be mistaken in my judgment, Mr. 
Gervas. 



THE MAGPIE. 55 

Gcrv. Except when a certain passion hinders 
you from seeing clearly. 

Dame. {To Gcrvas.) For Heaven's sake, hus- 
band ! 

Gerv. Let me alone : the Baillie would have 
found Annette innocent enough, if she had been 
guilty in his way ; but we know very well how 
she scorn'd his proposals — and here's a man 
who talks of duly and justice ! 

Bail. I'll make you repent this, fellow ! 

Dame. Ah! Mr. Baillie, (Goi/f^ on her knees.) 

Gerv- {Preventing her.) We only kneel to ask 
pardon ; — we demand justice ! {Standing up.) — 
Mr. Baillie, it is not your office to oppress the 
innocent, nor is it my duty to speak half what I 
feel on this villainous occasion. I reverence the 
laws ; and you never had more cause to be 
grateful to them than at this very moment : for, 
while 1 know they always protect me as an ho- 
nest man, I feel, even to my fingers' ends, that 

they also protect you as an unfeeling Poh ! 

— Come along, wife. 

[Exeunt Gervas and Dame., l.h.d.f. 

Bail. O— so you're an honest man, and I'm 

an unfeeling Pah ! — And the law is this — 

and my office is that. And I'll let you know, 
that the law shall teach you to respect my of- 
fice — and that my office shall teach you to re- 
spect the law — and that Pah ! 

[Exit in a rage^ l.h.d.f. 

SCENE II. — Represents the square of the village. 
In front., but inclining to the right hand side., 



56 THE MAGPIE. 

part of a church •with a steeple and large hell ; 
just under which is a sort of small scaffolding • 
to which is attached a strong rope, vchich doe, 
not hang down at present, but is carelessly 
thrown on the scaffolding. On the opposite 
side the court-house, which makes the corner of 
a street, with steps going up to it. Jl sentinel, 
who walks before the door, sometimes disap" 
pearing round the corner at the other entrance : 
on the same side, nearer to the audience, is a 
rustic gate to lead down to the farm of Mr. 
Gervas, and a stone bench by the side of it. 

Enter St. Clair, l.h.s.e. 

St. CI. I can find no one to tell me the Bail- 
lie's house, or Farmer Gervas's. Evrard, I 
know, came here to see his daughter — how 
lucky it would be to find him still here, and to 
embrace my brave comrade ! — he can't be far 
off. 

Blaisot — {Coming out of the gate, l.h.s.e. and 
counting his money.') 

Blais. That's just the money — and now away 
with us to the tree. 

St. CI. Honest lad, mayhap you can tell me 
where the Baillie lives, and Farmer Gervas ? 

Blais. Yes. master soldier ; this gate is the 
short cut to our farm. 

St. CI. And the Baillie ? 

Blais. You'll find him, fast enough, round the 
(> Aer. 



THE MAGPIE. 67 

St. CI Thank ye, good friend. [Exit., lh. 

Blais. He'll not find any body at home, hovv- 
^omever ; ev'ry body's gone to poor Annette's 
trial. I can't bear to think on it ! Here's tirst 
of all the fifteen shillings, and then I have left 
— poh ! I can count afterwards. Poor girl, it 
makes one's heart ache ; poor Annette ! 

[Exit^ R.H, 

Enter Evrard, r.h.s.e. 

Evr. Sure I heard my daughter's name ! and 
{With an air of pity.) some accident must have 
prevented her sending the money. J cannot 
support it ; and yet, to appear in this village by 
day light ! A sentinel ! I am undone if I go 
that way. ' 

Enter Georget, r.h.u.e. 

Evr. Can you oblige me, good friend, to go 
as far as farmer Gervas's ? 

Gear. Why there's the gate of the farm-yard ; 
you'll find nobody there j they are in trouble, 
poor souls. 

Evr. In trouble ! 

Geor. Yes ; that nice servant maid of theirs, 
young Annette. 

Evr. What of her? 

Geor. Who'd have thought such a thing ; she'll 
be condemn'J, I'm sartin. 

Evr. Condomn'd! for w^at? 

Geor. For robbmg her inistreKSS, that's all. 



58 THE MAGPIE. 

Evr. Impossible ! 

Geor. True enough, tho' ; the whole of the 
village is gone to the court-house, and I'm going 
myself. 

Evr. Stop, wretch ! her name, this moment. 

Geor. I tell you, Annette — Annette Granville. 
[Exit^ up the steps^ r.h. 

Evr. Granville ! Merciful Heaven ! 

Enter St. Clair, l.h. 

Evr. No ; it cannot be my daughter ! what is 
my life, if such a charge is hanging over her. 

St. CI. What do 1 see ? let me embrace my 
dear Evrard. I went to the Baillie's, but he was 
out. 

Evr. Ah, St. Clair, is it you ? 

St. CI. Yes, Evrard ; here is your pardon. 
The whole regiment petitioned his majesty, and 
your captain himself had the generosity to own 
that he had given you provocation ; he himself 
nobly presented the petition, and the king has 
signed your pardon. 

Evr. \ ou bring me life. My daughter I oh, 
fatal stroke ! To the farm, that I may hear the 
worst. 

St. CI. Evrard, I shall never quit you. 

[Exeunt^ L.H.s.E. 

E7iter Geofget, followed by Richard, Gervas, 
Dame, ^c. dorai the steps^ l.h. 

Gear. Here are all the people coming out ; 
it is all over with poor Annette. (Retires.) 



THE MAGPIE. 69 

Rich. Yes; 1 will publish to the world this 
infamous injustice. The barbarians condemned 
her without hearing me; but I will see her 
again, and receive her last adieu. 

Gerv. You must come with me. Obey your 
father; I will have it so. 

Rich. Oh : torture, torture ! [Exeunt l.h. 

{Dead march — Annette, preceded and follow- 
ed by Gens d'^Armes.) and surrounded by 
others^ comes down the steps of the court 
house towards the stage : then turns by the 
churchy and stops a moment.^ with bended 
knee and attitude of prayer. She then rises., 
and the melancholy procession passes by the 
end of the stage round the court house. The 
music continues till the procession is quite 
<Qut of sight,) 

Enter Blaisot, r.h. from the other side. 

Blais. Ecod — I've popp'd the money into the 
tree ; and now let us see the rest of my little 
fortune. —It won't be long counting. I'll sit 
down here. (On. the bench., near the gate.) One, 
two, three. — I'm richer than I thought. — Four, 
five, and the new shilling that poor Annette gave 
me for my Christmas-box. — I'll put that a one 
side with the cross, i he dear, sweet girl! I 
think 1 hear her last words, — " Farewell, Blai* 
sot." 

Georget comes forward. 
Geor. Ah ! Blaisot, there you are. 



60 THE MAGPIE. 

Blais. (Getting up iji a hurry ^ leaves part of his 
money on the Bench.) Ah ! Georget, tell us, — were 
you in the court ? 

Geor. Its all over — I heard the sentence. 
Blais, Condemn'd ? 
Geor. To death — and cfone — 
Blais. To execution. — I tell you, Georget, it's 
an abomination; and that damn'd Baillie. 

{^Returns to the bench to take his money. The 
Magpie has just come down and carried off 
something in her beak. 
Geor. Look, Blaisot ! 

Blais. [FoV owing with his eyes.) Will you drop 
that, you cursed Mag-pie ? Lookye here, Geor- 
get, if she 'arnt carried off my new shilUng, that 

I wouldn't have g-iven 

Geor. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Poor Blaisot ; I '•an't help 
laughing". 

Blais. (^Bunning and looking up after the bird^ 
as he approaches the sentinel., who looks and laughs.^ 
And vou're lausrhing" too ; (To ?he sentinel.) there 
she is. the d — d thief! into the belfry. I watch'd 
the place; if I could but climb up. Wait a bit, 
if I but catch you. 

{^Goes to the church door., which the workmen 
are supposed to have left open ; he goes in 
and gets inside the belfry.) 
Geor. He thinks the Magpie will wait for him ; 
poor Blaisot ! ha I ha! ha ! 

Blais. {Hallooing out of the Belfry — something 
inhishand.) Holloa ! Georget! Georget I { Scream- 
ing with impatience.) Annette is innocent ! look 
here, look here — the spoon ! Oh lud, oh lud — 



THE MAGPIE. 61 

and there they^re carrying the poor girl ; will 
nobody hear me ! Stop there, holloa ! they 
can't hear me. I know what I'll do. 

(^He goes into the Belfry and rings -with great 
violence, never stopping.^ 
Geor. The man's mad ! 

Enter Gervas, Dame, Richard, and Villa- 
gers^ L.H.S.E. 

Gerv. 



n ( What is the matter? 

Dame. 

Blais. (^topping.) Come here all of you, come 
here. Anisette's innocent ! {Rings again.) 

Gerv. But Blaisot, Blaisot — tell us. 
Blais. [Stopping the Bell.) Dame, Gervas. Rich- 
ard ! Oh ! [Out of breath.) run as fast as you can, 
here's the spoon and fork, and ever so many 
thing^s, and my new shilling. It was the Magpie 
that stole um. 

Gerv. Here, Dame Gervas, hold your apron. 
(He throws them doxm.) 

[Exeunt Gervas and Richard.^ l.h.u.e. 
Blaisot continues ringing. 
Blais (On the scajfolding., looking out.) here 
she is, and Richard carrying her in his arms. 
Re-enter Gervas with Richard, carrying Ann- 
ette, L.H.u.E. her father enters., and clasps 
her in his arms all the villagers shout — Dame 
Gervas falls on her knees to Annette.^ who 
tenderly raises her — the characters form a 
general tableau^ and the curtai7i drops. 

TH£ ENQ« 



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